


not a failing of yours

by like_theletter



Series: MCYT [9]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (Implied/Referenced) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Crying, Exhaustion, Gaslighting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Panic Attacks, Prompt: Worked to Exhaustion, RL AU FUCKING FINALLY, Ranboo Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Self-Worth Issues, Sleep Deprivation, implied - Freeform, you know what that means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29791134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/like_theletter/pseuds/like_theletter
Summary: Something’s different next week. Techno’s not well-versed in the wholefeelingsthing, but he is observant, and he notices that Ranboo takes longer to respond, that he's spaced out, fidgety. He looks tired.Techno ignores the twinge of sympathy he feels at that thought and thinks, resolutely,not my problem.Because he can admit he has a fondness for the kid, maybe even that he enjoys spending time with him, maybe that Ranboo’s his favorite of his little brother’s friends, but the moment he gets involved in the kid’s life it's over. He hasrules, dammit, and they do not accommodate getting invested in the emotional drama of one of his little brother’s friends.No way.(Something's wrong with Ranboo. Techno might be out of his depth, here.)
Relationships: Ranboo & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: MCYT [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077845
Comments: 30
Kudos: 616
Collections: Ranboo Is Best Boi





	not a failing of yours

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Way of Rest: Finding The Courage to Hold Everything in Love by Jeff Foster. 
> 
> i started this fic over a fucking MONTH ago and probably wrote 90% of it in the first two weeks and then since then it's been bludgeoning me to death with a shovel. it's my pièce de résistance and yet still somehow my enemy. well actually no to keep from sinking is probably my pièce de résistance BUT REGARDLESS writing this ending in particular was like trying to defuse a bomb while being stung by a million bees so just be glad i finished it okay 
> 
> but FINALLY. FINALLY WE HAVE RL AU CONTENT AFTER I PROMISED YOU A MONTH AND A HALF AGO and expect more in the future, esp angst prompts, i have a few lined up for this au >:]
> 
> speaking of which these three are all i had prewritten and i've been working on 15k tubbo-centric rl au fic (a... separate rl au) that will probably never see the light of day so it might be a while before i post the next one of these skjdfh

It’s not that Techno  _ enjoys _ tutoring, because really, he doesn’t.

He— doesn’t mind it. Tolerates it, at best. Doesn’t get any joy out of it at all, especially not because he happens to tutor Ranboo, who he definitely does not hold any fond feelings for whatsoever. That would be ridiculous, and a complete reputation ruiner. 

Speaking of which, said reputation ruiner is currently searching for his history textbook in the pile of things that’s spilled out of his absolute _disaster zone_ of a backpack. (Not that Techno himself is any better, but _do as I say, not as I do,_ despite being a shallow aphorism, has to have _some_ merit, he supposes.)

“Ahh, I  _ just _ had it, God—” Ranboo ruffles his two-toned hair anxiously, collecting scattered pens and markers from the carpeted library floor. He shoves three leather-bound journals into the gaping maw of his backpack before rocking back on his heels and smiling up at Techno sheepishly. “I think I left it at home.”

“It’s fine. Do you have a laptop?”

Ranboo pauses, cocking his head to the side. Techno notices he does that a lot when he’s thinking. Trying to remember something. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” And he sets a battered MacBook that looks to be from about 2008 on the table.

Techno blinks. “It works,” Ranboo says defensively, folding his long legs into the chair. “You just have to wiggle the cord a little bit to get it to turn on.”

“...Okay. Let's start on the Mayans.” 

Ranboo’s laptop shuts off three times before he gives in and borrows a library computer. 

-

Something’s different next week. Techno’s not well-versed in the whole  _ feelings _ thing, but he is observant, and he notices that Ranboo takes longer to respond, that he's spaced out, fidgety. He looks tired. 

Techno ignores the twinge of sympathy he feels at that thought and thinks, resolutely,  _ not my problem.  _

Because he can admit he has a fondness for the kid, maybe even that he enjoys spending time with him, maybe that Ranboo’s his favorite of his little brother’s friends, but the moment he gets involved in the kid’s life it's over. He has  _ rules _ , dammit, and they do not accommodate getting invested in the emotional drama of one of his little brother’s friends.  _ No way. _

“Oh, I brought you something!” Ranboo says, after his phone chimes with the reminder. He turns, brushing a lock of half-black hair out of his face, and rifles through his backpack. “Um, it might clash with your hair, so I’m sorry if it does, but— here.” He sets something pink and yarn on the table. Techno picks it up.

It’s a hat. 

It’s a pink hand-knitted hat. It has little pig ears attached to it. For a brief, terrifying moment, Techno thinks he might cry.

Ranboo starts rambling, looking slightly flustered. “It’s— it’s a pig, because of, you know, your Minecraft skin, and uh, I just recently learned to knit so there might be some holes in it. I think there’s one in the back but if you fold over the end it should be fine. I got the ears from— Joanne’s, I think, a while ago, and it was kind of a nightmare because there were so many to choose from—”

God. This kid. This fucking kid. 

“It’s— fine, I guess,” Techno says, choked. “Definitely doesn’t warm my heart at all whatsoever. Nope. Totally mediocre gift.”

Ranboo grins.

...Maybe he'll bring McDonald’s or something next session. The kid’s too skinny anyway. 

The rest of the session goes relatively smoothly, if a little slow. Ranboo yawns a couple times and Techno catches him zoning out. His hands are laced with a slight tremor. 

But Ranboo gives him a parting smile that warms his heart— uh. Makes him feel a little better about the whole  _ not getting involved _ thing. It’s going to be fine. The kid has parents, anyway, and a whole slew of caring friends who can handle the  _ feelings _ thing much better than Techno could. It's not like he'd do a better job than  _ Tubbo _ .

Ranboo’s just stayed up late a couple too many nights and need some rest and a break. He’ll come back next week and be cheerful and funny and clever as always, and Techno will breathe easier. 

Everything’s going to be fine.

-

The next week is worse. 

If Techno had to guess, he’d say Ranboo’s probably gotten two hours of sleep a night since he saw him last, if that. 

The first thing he notices when he sees Ranboo is the dark circles carved under his eyes. He’s wearing a hoodie instead of his usual collared shirt and sweater, and his two-toned hair is wild and greasy. He looks stressed, but gives Techno a weak smile. “Hey.”

Techno nods in response and watches Ranboo set his bag down, rifling through it for his study guide. His movements are clumsier than usual — which is saying a lot — and much slower. 

“Uh.” Techno sets the Happy Meal on the table, feeling incredibly awkward. “I got you McDonalds.”

Ranboo’s head snaps up. His face does something complicated that Techno can’t read, before he says, sounding incredibly touched, “You  _ did _ ?”

Techno flushes. “Yeah.” He looks away, unable to face Ranboo’s melty-soft expression. “It’s not a big deal.” He shoves the Happy Meal closer. 

“But it was really nice of you,” Ranboo says, and Techno’s horrified to hear a waver in his voice. Techno looks and his eyes are a little wet. 

Tearing up at a slight act of kindness that took almost zero effort. That’s a red flag if Techno’s ever seen one. 

Tommy used to be like that, when they first adopted him— every kind gesture seemed to have an inordinate weight to him. Techno once noticed a basket of folded laundry in his room and put it away for him, only to later be met with an armful of gratefully sobbing 12-year-old. 

But Tommy’d been enduring the horrors of the foster system since he was five. Tommy had never had a good home before.

“Sorry,” Ranboo says, face red, wiping his eyes. “I’m, uh, sensitive. Long day.” 

Techno thinks about how he’d justified not helping Ranboo —  _ his parents will take care of him  _ — and wonders how true that actually is.

At the end of the session, he eyes the half-eaten leftovers warily; the kid can’t even finish a Happy Meal. Techno swallows, watching Ranboo wave from the doorway. His smile is soaked with exhaustion. 

Part of Techno says  _ something is wrong.  _ Well, actually, most of him says that — the signs are undeniable — but even if it were Techno’s place to say something, he wouldn’t know where to start.

He’s Ranboo’s tutor. He’s his friend’s weird older brother. Nothing else. 

Who’s to say Ranboo has any positive feelings towards him at all other than  _ the reason I’m not failing history  _ and  _ makes us pizza rolls sometimes _ ? Who’s to say Techno wouldn’t make things worse?

And Ranboo’s already gone, anyway. He’s gone home, to parents who most likely take care of him, and it’s probable if not nearly guaranteed that Techno is making a big deal out of nothing.  _ Paranoid.  _ So the kid’s not sleeping. What teenager does?

Ranboo’s fine, Techno tells himself. Ranboo’s  _ fine. _

-

Ranboo is decidedly  _ not fine.  _

First, there’s the fact that he missed last week’s session with no warning, which Techno would be pissed about if it wasn’t so very out of character for him. (Plus, the next day Ranboo sent him a lengthy email wherein he apologized about 800 times.) 

Then, there’s what Techno’s been hearing from Tommy. Techno doesn’t make a habit of listening to his little brother’s chatter about his friends, but his figurative antennae went up when Tommy complained that Ranboo “never has time to hang out anymore—” and even more so when he went quiet and troubled about it over dinner. “Ranboo’s acting weird,” he’d said, then excused himself. 

And, to be frank, Techno knew as soon as Ranboo walked in for their session that something was wrong. Well. He knew beforehand, but this confirmed it.

Ranboo’s  _ shaking.  _ That’s the biggest thing. His hands ghost over the pages of his notes with a tremor edging on violent, and his leg is bouncing a mile a minute. It’s not nervous energy, though, like it often is with Ranboo— it’s exhaustion. 

Techno doesn’t spend time people-watching for nothing. He  _ notices _ things, things others would overlook, but this time he doesn’t even have to use his excellent deduction to see it— you’d have to be blind to miss how  _ tired _ Ranboo looks.

His shoulders are slumped. His hand is tapping a frantic staccato on the wooden table. His eyes are glazed and ringed with dark circles, flicking back and forth like he’s having trouble focusing on the words in front of him. 

Techno’s heart  _ aches.  _

But what the hell is he supposed to do about it? He’s not— he’s not  _ good  _ at this stuff. This is Wilbur’s, or Tubbo’s, or Tommy’s or Dream’s thing a million times before it’s his, and no matter how much he wants to  _ do _ something, he can’t help but feel like he’d just make it worse. 

“When did Constantinople fall?” 

Techno watches Ranboo swallow a yawn, slightly rocking back and forth in his chair— it wouldn't be obvious to anyone else, but Techno knows a self-soothing motion when he sees one. Ranboo’s somehow shaking worse now, but he answers, “1453.”

“And what were the effects of that?” 

“I…” Ranboo closes his eyes. His breathing is uneven. “Sorry, I— sorry—”

“Hey,” Techno says, feeling awful and incredibly out of his depth. “Hey, uh, it's— it's okay. Just take a second.”

“I'm sorry,” Ranboo gasps, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I'm— I'm sorry. I’m being stupid—” 

“It's okay,” Techno says again. Fuck.  _ Fuck,  _ he's so bad at this. “You're— are you—”

Ranboo cuts him off with a sharp, “I'm fine,” though the way he scrubs his hands over his face says otherwise. 

Techno is silent. God, he wishes Wilbur were here. Wilbur would know how to handle a child falling apart. The best Techno can do is— “Do you want a granola bar?”

It does make Ranboo pause for a second and look at him funny, but then he goes right back to shaking, mumbling, “No— no thank you, I'm not hungry, I'm not— I just need a second. I just need a second.” 

“Okay,” Techno says, an attempt at gentle, comforting. “Okay.” 

Ranboo makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, and drags his hands down his face, sparing a glance at Techno before his eyes flick away. He looks miserable. His eyes are red. He takes a shuddering breath. 

“I— sorry, I'm sorry, excuse me—”And he shoots out of his chair, scattering papers across the table, hurrying out of the library. 

This is not good. 

Techno stares at the door of the library, mouth slightly open as if he was going to say  _ literally anything helpful _ , completely at a loss. Feeling a little numb, he does the only thing he can think of: he texts Wilbur. 

_ Help. The child is falling apart. _

It’s a good half-minute before Wilbur responds. He’s probably in the midst of one of his midday naps.

_ blade w/all due respect there r a lot of children falling apart in our lives. be more specific _

Techno rolls his eyes.

_ Ranboo.  _

_ oh shit _

He starts to type a response, but his phone chimes again. 

_ hold on im texting tommy _

_ What for? _

No response. The door to the library opens and Techno’s head snaps up to look, but it’s just the librarian, who looks at him, slightly bewildered. He bites back a scowl.

He looks down to see that Wilbur’s messaged him back.

_ tommy says he doesnt think ranboos been sleeping & that his parents put a lot of pressure on him _

_ hes like. very worried  _

Techno feels a pang of dread in his chest.

_ He just ran away. He looked like he was about to have a breakdown.  _

_ What do I do? _

_ give him space i think, just when he comes back remind him that you're here for him etc etc  _

_ and maybe tell him to cancel next session and get some sleep _

_ Okay. Thanks.  _

_ no problem tech _

Okay. That's a solid plan. Techno leans back, feeling slightly better. He'll wait for Ranboo to come back and then he'll do exactly what Wilbur said and everything will be fine.

Except. 

Except Ranboo doesn't come back. 

It's been thirty minutes since he shot out of the room, half that since the session technically ended. Techno has to leave to pick Tommy up from his piano lesson in about ten seconds to get there a respectable 15 minutes late. He texts Tommy. 

_ I'll be late picking you up. Walk to Tubbo’s or something.  _

The response comes almost immediately, which makes Techno wince with guilt. 

_ Why would you do that!!!!! You are already Late!!!! Leaving me in The Dust. S.M.H. my head _

_ I'm waiting for your friend.  _

_ I have A Lot of friends TechnoBlade _

_ Ranboo.  _

It's almost comical how quickly Tommy shies. Almost. 

_ Oh _

_ Is he ok?  _

_ Probably. Don't worry about it.  _

_ Not reassuring blade _

Tommy types and backspaces for a long time. 

_ Tell him im here for him ok _

_ Sure.  _

Techno goes back to his work, but not without a healthy dose of unease. Wilbur had said Tommy was  _ very worried _ , but seeing it is different. His little brother rarely worries about anything. 

Except his friends, Techno supposes. Especially since they all have an unreasonable amount of trauma for a group of teenagers. 

He’ll wait five minutes longer. Five minutes.

Twenty minutes later, Techno walks out of the library, feeling worse than ever. He shoots a text to Tommy asking where to pick him up and presses on his temples, willing his headache to subside. 

He’d checked the bathrooms, the little outdoor area, the parking lot. The only explanation is that Ranboo must have left. He lives close enough to walk, but Techno still doesn’t like the idea of him stumbling back to his house alone when he looked like he could barely stand. 

And Techno doesn’t like the idea that he’s left upset. Techno was gonna  _ talk  _ to him, dammit, offer encouragement and pat his hand all comfortingly. And now he’s gone back home to parents who evidently don’t give a shit about his health, to stew alone and probably beat himself up for breaking down in front of someone. The whole thing leaves a bad taste in Techno’s mouth. 

He drives to Tubbo’s house, maybe a little faster than he should (so sue him, he still feels guilty for earlier) and texts Tommy to let him know he’s waiting outside. As usual, it’s a good few minutes before Tommy stumbles through the door, yelling something back to Tubbo— he always has a lot of stuff to gather up before he leaves anywhere. Tommy tends to sprawl. 

Speaking of which, Tommy tosses his backpack in the floor of the passenger seat with a force that tells Techno he’s already pissed before they’ve even spoken. Great.

“Funny to see you here, Technoblade,” Tommy replies haughtily. He’s playing it up for the bit, but Techno can tell he's genuinely annoyed. 

“I’m sorry I was late picking you up.”

Tommy’s face softens, but then he crosses his arms and glares harder. “And?”

“And…” Techno gauges his expression. “And I’m sorry for not texting you until I was already late.”

Tommy nods, satisfied. Thank god. Being under the scrutiny of that kid is like being eyed by a tempermental hamster: amusing and yet mildly terrifying. Techno turns the key in the ignition and sighs in relief when it starts with no problem. (It’s a shitty, shitty car.) 

“So…” Tommy starts. Techno slows the car and turns to look at him. Tommy glances up, then back down to where he’s fiddling with his shoelaces, cheeks slightly flushed. “Did you— I mean, not that I care, but did you talk to Ranboo?” 

Techno sighs and flicks his turn signal on, accelerating gently. “No. He left before I could find him.”

“Oh.” 

Techno aches to glance over, to gauge Tommy’s expression, but keeps his eyes firmly trained on the windshield. He turns out of the neighborhood and onto the main road. 

He’s learned from experience that the best way to get Tommy to talk is a combination of kindness and gentle prompting, so he says, “Why do you ask?”

Tommy’s silent. Techno makes another two turns before he says, haltingly, “I’m— he’s been acting… fucking weird, I don’t know.” A pause. “All tired and shit. Me ‘n Drista keep telling him to sleep, but he—” Tommy swallows audibly. “Doesn’t fuckin’ listen, I guess. I don’t know.”

A car honks from behind them and Techno realizes the light he’s been waiting at has turned green. He scowls in his rearview mirror and presses the gas. 

They’re only a few minutes from the apartment, and Techno knows this conversation will be over once they leave the car. Even after three years of being part of the family, Tommy is excessively fickle about where and when he’ll open up, especially to non-Wilbur family members. The conditions have to be exactly right, and it depends on a million different things, and once the fragile situation shatters that’s it. So Techno has to figure out what he can.

Luckily, they stop at a yellow light just as it turns to red, meaning they’ll be there for a while. Techno takes a slow breath. “Tommy, has Ranboo ever mentioned anything about his parents?”

Tommy doesn’t answer. A glance over reveals he’s rubbing a mark off of his Converse a little too aggressively to be considered casual. 

“Tommy?”

“He— they’re—” Tommy makes a distressed sound in the back of his throat. “I don’t think they’re… good people, Tech.”

_ Oh. _

Another suspicion confirmed. Techno doesn’t feel better. 

“Not good how?” Techno presses. 

Tommy pulls on the fraying zipper of the backpack at his feet, face twisted. “He says they— tell him things that he knows aren’t true and shit, but make it sound like— like he’s being crazy for not agreeing with them. Especially because of— you know.”

His memory. 

Techno feels vaguely nauseous, stuck staring wide-eyed at Tommy. 

He doesn’t get a chance to recover before Tommy continues, with more vigor, “And he doesn’t say it but it’s so obvious that they’re fuckin’— telling him he’s got to get perfect grades or he’ll be a  _ failure  _ and bullshit like that.” The emphasis Tommy puts on the word  _ failure _ makes it seem like it’s something he’s heard directly from Ranboo, which hurts to think about. 

Mouth dry, Techno turns his attention back to the road. The light has turned green. He accelerates through the light and turns into the apartment complex parking lot.

Well. That’s one mystery solved. 

It still doesn’t make him feel better. 

-

Techno doesn’t know if he should expect Ranboo to be at this session. He tries to think back to when he was that age, to put himself in Ranboo’s shoes, but he didn’t have a tutor and wasn’t being fucking  _ gaslit  _ by his parents so it’s much more work than it’s worth. 

He’s been sitting at the library table with his laptop open for twenty minutes, since he got here way too early out of anxiety, so he tabs over to his messages and texts Tommy. 

_ Is Ranboo coming to the session today? _

Tommy doesn’t respond immediately, so he goes back to writing his essay — AP Macro, gross — until he hears a chime.

_ Idk He wasnt at school today  _

_ Hes not answering his fucking phone\ _

_ If he shows up Tell him i am mad at him  _

Techno swallows hard. Another text comes in.

_ Wait actually dont  _

_ Do not tell him that Techno please  _

Stupid. Stupid little brother, Techno tells himself, as he softens by a hundred degrees. 

_ I won’t.  _

Then what Tommy told him sinks in. 

Ha. So much for not getting invested. Techno’s so  _ worried  _ about this kid that for a second, it actually physically takes his breath away. 

The door to the library swings open, and Techno doesn’t get his breath back, because there’s Ranboo, looking absolutely  _ dead on his feet.  _ Techno opens his mouth to say something and comes up with nothing before Ranboo stumbles over and collapses in one of the chairs, bag hitting the ground with a  _ thud.  _

Through a yawn, sounding barely coherent, Ranboo slurs, “S’rry I’m late.”

“Yikes,” says Techno, out loud when he  _ maybe _ didn’t mean to. 

Ranboo blinks hard at him. His usually-vivid green and brown eyes are glassy and vacant. 

“You haven’t been sleeping.” It isn’t a question.

Ranboo drags one hand down his face and waves the other noncommittally. “I’m fine.”

“How many hours of sleep have you gotten in the past week?”

Watching Ranboo struggle to try to keep himself awake is putting Techno’s heart through a woodchipper. Ranboo squints and says, “Uhh— five-ish.”

Techno blinks, hoping Ranboo heard him wrong. “In the past  _ week _ .”

He is granted no such mercy. Ranboo nods, “Yeah. Five-ish.”

Jesus  _ fuck _ . Wow. Wow. Wow, okay. 

“You…”

Okay, Technoblade. Zone in. If there was ever a time to be good at the feelings thing, it’s now, because your stupid protege is severely sleep deprived and under academic pressure and you actually  _ know  _ a thing or two about that so for once in your life just be  _ sensitive.  _ Gentle. 

“Are you okay?” Even Techno’s surprised by how softly his voice comes out. He doesn’t really sound  _ gentle _ , but he’s quiet, and that has to count for something.

What’s concerning is that Ranboo seems to melt at the words, shoulders slumping, face falling forward into his hands, trembling slightly. He looks like a marionette whose strings just snapped, thin limbs loose with exhaustion. That’s… as much of an answer as anything, really. He mumbles something that trails off, that Techno doesn’t quite catch.

“Ranboo?” He asks and, feeling incredibly awkward, presses his knuckles against Ranboo’s elbow. 

“I’m— I’m okay, I’m just— I’m overreacting. I’m being stupid,” Ranboo says into his hands, voice catching.

Techno presses his lips together. There it is again. Techno’s pretty sure this kid is pathologically incapable of validating his own feelings. Again, it’s— it’s the way he says it, the quality of his voice, that makes it sound like he’s echoing something that he’s heard. It’s rote. Memorized. Techno’s heart twists.

“Oh,  _ yeah,  _ because it’s not valid at  _ all  _ to be upset by being severely sleep deprived and having immense pressure put on you,” Techno says dryly before he considers that maybe his particular brand of socially-inept sarcasm maybe won't be best in this situation. 

Ranboo doesn't burst into tears, though, so that's a win. He just grimaces and pulls his hands away with, “I— I wouldn't say  _ immense _ pressure, just, they just want me to do well—” 

“You just told me you've been getting less than an hour of sleep each night this week,” Techno points out. “And god knows how much before that.”

Ranboo’s face falls a little bit, as if hearing it out loud gives more weight to it. Techno’s familiar with the feeling. It's easy to justify things you do in the name of success until someone lays them out for you and you realize,  _ hey, maybe it's kind of nuts to straight-up not leave your room for two weeks working on a history project _ . 

Ranboo says, “Yeah.” Then again, to himself, “Yeah.” 

“But, uh— you gotta sleep,” Techno continues, leaning back in his chair, tugging at a piece of hair that's come loose from his ponytail. He should re-dye it soon. “I have— let's just say I have  _ ample _ experience with sleep deprivation and it… sucks. Especially ‘cause you children are supposed to have, like, ten hours each night.”

Ranboo makes a sound that could only be called a laugh if one was feeling very generous, and he nods. Then nods again. And again. He clutches the sleeve of his hoodie, face twisting. His breathing starts to pick up speed. 

Well, shit. Techno might have spoken too soon re: not bursting into tears. 

Ranboo wipes the stray tear as it drips down his cheek, but another one comes, and another, and he seems to be making a valiant effort to stay in control, but the poor kid is barreling toward an A-grade sobfest at a speed not even God can save you from. Techno's seen many of these from Wilbur, and a few from Tommy, so generally he knows his way around a sobbing teenager. 

This feels different, though. Techno can’t help but feel like he's out of his depth. 

Ranboo looks mortified, turning away, and Techno can feel his urge to run like electricity in the air, so he says, “Hey, uh, it’s okay. You don’t have to— I’m not going to judge you.”

There’s a moment where Techno thinks he’s still going to shoot out of his chair like he did last time, but after a second, he settles, untensing slightly. He’s still sobbing into his hands. Techno winces, but tentatively puts a hand on his back, rubbing light circles over the prominent knobs of his spine. 

“I’m sorry,” Ranboo says wetly, wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Techno pats him on the back. “Not really somethin’ to apologize for.”

Ranboo sniffles, but says nothing. 

“So,” Techno says awkwardly, cursing every aspect of human speech and communication as a whole, wishing amoebas had never evolved in the first place, “Wanna get ice cream?”

-

Later, Techno relays to Tommy what happened and Tommy tells their whole little group and basically forces Ranboo to cancel his session for next week, which Techno is more than happy to comply with. 

It’s two weeks later when Techno’s sitting at that same library table, nervousness showing only through the bouncing of his leg, wondering what state Ranboo will be in when he shows up. He can picture the glazed eyes and sluggish movements, dark circles and shaking hands. He wonders if it’ll be worse. 

But Ranboo’s smiling when he comes in.

His hair is brushed, freshly washed. He’s in a sweater and jeans. The darkness under his eyes has ebbed considerably, and color’s come back to his cheeks. He’s holding a thermos, though, which Techno eyes in suspicion as he sits down.

“Coffee?” Techno asks.

Ranboo shakes his head. “Hot chocolate.”

Techno smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment of what you liked (or what you didn't) and thanks so much for reading!
> 
> fun news: I AM TWITCH STREAMING!!! check me out [here](https://www.twitch.tv/like_theletter), i stream minecraft (and other things)!!! current schedule is tuesday & wednesday nights at 8pm EST so if that's something you're interested in check it out :D i'm almost at my follower goal so it would be poggers of you to help me get there ly guys
> 
> get excited for the next angst prompt and have a good rest of your week! be kind to yourself :] (the next prompt is broken ribs i will not tell you for whom though)


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